An Imaginary War
by McGeesJabberwock
Summary: Sequel of sorts to my fics 'Foster's House' and 'Brandy'. In the Otherworld, Wilt is coming to terms with his time as a monster, while the other friends are forced into a war against the Hatter.
1. Chapter 1

OK, this is going to be a bit different than what I usually do. This story is a sequel of sorts, not to just one fic, but to two fics of different fandoms, both written by me. It is based on my stories 'Foster's House' (primarily) and 'Brandy' and you won't really understand this story without having read those first. Going on my website www dot freewebs dot com slash entertheotherworld slash will also help your understanding. Enjoy!

_

* * *

_

_Speak roughly to your little boy,_

_And beat him when he sneezes:_

_He only does it to annoy,_

_Because he knows it teases.'_

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll

_"We can do nothing for him," said the Tin Woodman, sadly; "for he is much too heavy to lift. We must leave him here to sleep on forever, and perhaps he will dream that he has found courage at last."_  
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L Frank Baum

* * *

Do imaginary friends die?

One may say it would be impossible for a fictional character to die because they never lived to begin with. And they would be dead wrong. Imaginary creatures live in two different ways. One way is in the minds and hearts of their admirers, who want them to be real and treat them as their best friends. Were this not true, the major plot twist of the sixth Harry Potter book would not have had the emotional impact it had upon its billions of raving fanatics.

The second way is much more flesh and blood. Imaginary friends are very much physical in the realms of the Otherworld, where they are sent when the child they owe their lives to grows weary of them, or they are exorcised by a very good therapist. Away from the Creators, Visitors and Cheshire Cats of the Otherworld's main neighbourhood, they reside in a special building, in a special area of the world. Being physical has its price though, and with life comes…

Do imaginary friends die? The answer should be obvious when one sees the graveyard. A special graveyard in that special part of the Otherworld, one specifically created for the imaginary friends that live there.

There are more gravestones there then you may think.

The subject on imaginary friends dieing should be relevant here, as this story begins with several of these strange imaginary friends holding a funeral for one of their own. Itty Bitty Kitty. She had suffered quite a lot before her death, especially when she was held face to face with the girl that had created her. It should have been a good thing then, that her miserable existence was cut short with a quick and painless death. Another reason the subject of imaginary friends dieing should be seen as relevant is due to the fact that Mr. Herriman, who had survived for God-knows-how-long and thus carried an air of authority around his peers, appeared at the funeral reading the main eulogy.

"Friends. Colleagues." Herriman took a deep breath. "I am sure that we all feel pity for Itty Bitty Kitty." An immature chuckle emitted from the crowd.

"Master Blooregard!" Bloo pouted. "This is a serious procession and if you can't behave in a respectable manner, I will have to punish you." Bloo sighed and mimicked the rabbit under his breath. "Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted? Oh, yes. I most definitely feel sorrow for the fact that this poor friend, just because she was a feline, was, how should I say, mistreated, by the, ahem, more raucous members of the Cheshire Cat army. Also…also…"

"Go on, Mr. H."

Herriman couldn't go on. Discussing incidents like this, and to such a crowd, made his gut feel like it was being throttled. He knew that something...not good was happening. It began when they were blown away from the Otherworld into the real world, and were forced to do so in malevolent, sinister forms, bringing the nightmares they were supposed to prevent. The Cheshire Cats. Their entire job concerned the deliverance of nightmares, and as long as the Hatter had the Otherworld in his grasp, the friends were supposed to see them as heroes. The Hatter said his mission was that of good; that nightmares were important for a person's development. Nightmares of failing a test would stop procrastination in revising. Internally combating fears will help with external affairs. The Cheshire Cats themselves were once the lowliest of human beings, treated as toilets until the Hatter brought a glimmer of hope into their lives. But it wasn't the Hatter that made the friends monsters, it was that trenchcoat monster. The Hatter said he would deal with him. Should he feel comfortable in that? Herriman never did trust the Hatter though. He may be capable of selling ice to Eskimos, but someone who collects the souls of the insane and creates an entire army of grinning felines obviously has a sinister air about them.

Mr. Herriman left. He didn't say a word more.

"Geez, what's that guy's problem?"

"Bloo! I'm sorry, but I can't believe you sometimes!" Wilt. "I mean, seriously." He buried his head in his one hand, a scar of an _incident_. "I mean, I can understand you want to forget it, I do as well, but you can't…"

Bloo rolled his eyes and answered with a loud 'pfft'.

"Co co co co." A bird with a palm tree for a head and airplane wings.

"What do you mean I'm delusional?"

"Co co co co co co co co co."

Mac. Mac. Mac.

"Shut up." He missed Mac. Yes he did. But would he seriously expect anyone to want him to admit it and act all sappy about it? Look at Wilt. He suffered a lot, possibly more than Itty Bitty Kitty before she died. He still greets everyone with a big smile though, he always says please and thank you. He's obviously hiding something. Why not pick on him? Favouritism, that's what it was.

Wilt had one arm. He had a bendy eye. His transformation back into his original cute form was not entirely successful. He couldn't wake up in the morning without a faint recollection of that damn house. He couldn't look at Bloo without visualising him as a floating spectre. He couldn't look at Coco without seeing a nail in her eyeball. It was his creator that did all that. He couldn't help but feel he should bask in some of the blame.

The two friends had feelings that they wanted to share, but felt it would be wiser if they didn't. Especially seeing how Berry was reacting.

Berry had been very annoying, before and during the incident with the house. Afterwards, however, was different. Bloo and Wilt, now looking at Berry clinging to the grave and mumbling to herself as if she were speaking in tongues, couldn't bring themselves to believe that, less than a year ago, she was always grinning and vying for Bloo's admiration. She and Itty Bitty Kitty always had been the best of friends, they had a lot in common, so this, coupled with how she had been forced to act in that accursed mansion…

Bloo and Wilt both considered coming to Berry to give her comfort. But they didn't.

They just left.

_Hush…hush…_

Berry swerved away from her friend's gravestone for a second, to determine the source of the voice. Just as she did, she felt something warm and slimy, yet comforting, wrapping around her waist. _Don't cry…don't cry…_She smiled, she even chuckled. _I'll be here for you…_

Watching this scene behind a gravestone was a rather large gecko, a former Otherworld Creator stripped of his world through a lost battle. All he could really do now is just wander the Otherworld, but not go into any houses, or even go back to the real world. So he had to watch occurrences like these, in hopes it would help take his mind off his defeat, or Lola's defeat, to be more precise. He had trained her so hard; she was practically _guaranteed_ to win…what went wrong?

"I was hoping to bump into you again."

Him.

It was because of this creature that he was even in this mess to begin with. That shadow…thingamajig promised him power and wealth, but just threw any horrible thing he could find at him for 'tests'. Now taking on a more humanoid form and wearing a grey trenchcoat, he looked different from when they had first met, but was still instantly recognisable.

"You! Get away!"

"Gaspar! Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here!"

"That's it; always pin the blame on others. I didn't bring you here, lizard face, you came here by choice."

Gaspar just grumbled and folded his arms in response.

"If you insist on being such a fucking sourpuss, then I guess you don't need my help…"

Gaspar turned to the shadow. "What do you mean?"

"I'm fed up of that hat freak running the show. I thought that you would make a much better ruler than he would, but since now, you're acting like such an ungrateful asshole…"

Gaspar scoffed. "Give me one good reason I can trust you."

The shadow stood still for a minute as his eyes, his fiery, brimstone eyes, faded away completely. He took off his hat and let it fall to the ground. He slowly unbuttoned his trenchcoat and it slid right off his body. His trousers dropped down and disappeared completely. All that was left was a silhouette…

…which morphed itself into a vortex spinning rapidly like a tornado until it became a blob. No, it wasn't a blob. A torso. A torso that curved and thinned in ways that excited Gaspar, yet paralysed him. Two arms forced their way out of the blob, two slender arms made for holding and _touching_. Two legs burst out like torpedoes from a submarine. These legs, although Gaspar wasn't touching them and could only see them as silhouettes, felt soft and smooth. A head then burst out triumphantly, with hair slithering out of it like snakes. Gaspar could actually touch the hair, it wrapped around him like a ribbon. As his scaly fingers moved through the dark tresses, the shadow began to gain flesh. Light, smooth flesh, thick, red lips, cheeks, hips, toes and, of course, eyes.

She smiled at him.

Then she turned back.

"I bet the Hatter and his goons didn't promise _that_, did they?"

Gaspar was breathless.

"Here's what we'll do." The trenchcoated demon grabbed Gaspar by the shoulders and held his face closer to his own, reminding Gaspar of those burning yellow eyes. "It is impossible to turn the Cheshire Cats against their master, so we will need to form a _new_ army, and I know just who to use." His eyes turned towards the imaginary friends walking away from the cemetery. "Gaspar, I feel it's you who should lead, due to the fact that they won't trust me, due to an earlier…well…'incident'. They may seem cute and fuzzy, but I assure you, a killer instinct lies within them. It's getting late, so we'll put our plan into action tomorrow. I'll be back."

And he just disappeared, leaving Gaspar sitting atop a gravestone. Just as Gaspar walked away to find a place to sleep, he swore he heard another voice register inside his head, one more nervous and neurotic.

'Don't listen to him…he's lying…you'll _die_…'

Gaspar scoffed. Just scoffed.

* * *

"M'lord! M'lord!"

The Duchess. Not the one from the house though, not Miss Foster, not the monster that transformed poor imaginary friends into beasts, another Duchess. A three-eyed blob with huge tusks protruding from her mouth, and tentacles where there should be arms and legs.

"What is it?" Her lord and master crept off his chair and turned to face her.

"It's 'im again. That trenchcoat shadow person."

"_Him_ again?"

The Duchess nodded. "It's them imaginary friends again. 'E says 'e wants to take over the world with 'em, and defeat our armies."

"That little…" The Hatter took a few minutes to calm himself down. "I suppose our friend has a point though. These imaginary friends _can_ be of use to us. I mean, with gratitude to that person, they've all suffered trauma and will never be quite the same. I especially sense some potential in Master Wilt…"

"Sir! Sir!"

"What is it?" The March Hare.

"Um…well…I work with those friends, you know, and…well, don't you think that Wilt guy has suffered enough? I mean…"

The Hatter laughed and walked back to his seat. "Oh, how naïve you are. Don't you know anything?" The Hatter waved his hand and a bowl of ice cream appeared in front of him. "Trauma is like ice cream. On its own, it's delicious. But add sprinkles, and it's more delicious. Add syrup and chocolate sauce and it's even more delicious. Likewise, add more trauma to trauma, and it becomes more and more _delicious_." The March Hare still looked unsure. "And, like ice cream, trauma comes in all sorts of flavours, and each of us has his own preference."

The Duchess approached. "And wot should I be doin', m'lord?"

"Tonight, just before our little friend puts his little plan into action, you will infiltrate the dreams of Master Wilt and help me bring him to our side. It's just the job for you. The poor red creature still lives in fear of his mother. You specialize in that type of emotion, don't you?"

"You betcha."

The Hatter chuckled. "Then I assume you will enjoy yourself."


	2. Chapter 2

The imaginary friends of the Otherworld were kept – that's right, kept is an appropriate word – in a large building at the end of the neighbourhood; some may call it the 'home for imaginary friends' Madame Foster dreamed of. It had everything those strange creatures could need: food, drink, toiletries, recreational facilities, beds…

Beds…

Wilt lay in his bed, and, despite his room being surrounded by basketball-related items, which he revelled in, he found it very difficult to make himself comfortable. He hated going to sleep, due to the anxiety surrounding what would be present in his dreams. He would occasionally grab a cup of coffee or a bottle of coke before going to bed in vague hopes of staying awake, but _he_ wasn't easily defeated…

He's back. He refuses to die.

Wilt had suddenly gone from his bedroom to an endless hallway, lit by candles on the walls. Not just any hallway either, one of the many hallways of that house. That damn house. He recognised it all: the wood panelling, the wallpaper with pictures of gryphons, the windows, the doors.

The windows. There was no sky, no clouds, no stars, no sun, no moon. All that could be seen was a continually swirling grey vortex. Where it came from Wilt could only guess.

The doors. The hallway boasted several of them. Some were locked, some had strange noises emitting from them…Wilt felt some of them could even be alive. Anything was possible here. In a previous visit, Wilt even remembered opening a door and almost being run over by a train.

Everything about this place made Wilt's blood run cold. A strange smell seemed to drift around the place, either of rotting flesh, garbage, or a mixture of each. Every time he too a step, it felt like spectral fingers were rapping on his toes and drifting through his legs. The floorboards felt like they were going to give way any minute and collapse. Worse of all, though, was the hot breath Wilt felt on the back of his neck.

Wilt walked faster, then began sprinting, not looking behind, never looking behind, but he could still feel that breath, which made his heart pound quickly and sweat trickle down his furry body. He thought the hall was endless, but he couldn't be more wrong; he crashed into a wall. The wall had hands - that's right, hands – that twisted Wilt around and forced his eyes open to his pursuer.

The tall red creature. One arm. Emaciated. Tentacles for legs. A straggled beard. One eyeball a twisting spiral. Huge green teeth that could bite your head off in a single bite.

Wilt.

"I'm sorry…"

Wilt was to blame. His creator did all this. This was his punishment for being an accessory to the crime. Every night, his dreams would be invaded by the monstrous, twisted form he took in that house given new flesh, that creature would raise its axe over its grinning head and…

The floorboards did collapse this time, bringing down both Wilt and his doppelganger. Funny. This had never happened before.

Wilt landed on a floating chair in a black void, sitting at a table opposite a certain three-eyed blue blob. The table had been laid out with tea, cakes with pink icing and several other 'goodies' for Wilt to eat.

"I'm so sorry, Wilt, love. Would you like a biccie or a cake?"

"Um…thanks."

"You know, Wilt, you shouldn't be troubled by that monster thing, you really shouldn't. Imaginary friends shouldn't be having nightmares, you shouldn't…"

"I'm sorry, but why are you doing this?"

"Well, Wilt, don't you remember back when you were young, you had a little girl who loved you?"

Wilt was silent.

"The good ol' days. Don't you want them back?"

Wilt shivered in his seat, feeling his mouth go dry. "I…I…can?"

Yes, he wanted it so badly. The basketball games, the hot summer days, the joyful Christmases…and best of all, a sweet, innocent child to play with, who loved – loves – him. The whole incident would have never happened. Neither he, Bloo, Coco or Eduardo would have taken on sinister forms, they would have stayed simple and pure for…

The table immediately broke in two. The Duchess was knocked over backwards into the black pit.

"Bloomin' 'eck!"

Wilt gripped onto the chair's arms. What now?

_Do not trust that damnable Hatter or any of his associates. They will bring you nothing but misery._

Wilt was once again brought face to face with his other form, slumped on a chair like a giant ragdoll.

_Do you want to now why he haunts your dreams, and your mind cannot draw away from him? Because he is more intelligent than you. He has the right idea._

Wilt couldn't respond. Having to listen to this voice and look at that grinning monster he once was simultaneously made it feel like his soul was being ripped to pieces.

_You focus on the past too much. It's never coming back, you know, so you might as well deal with it. The Hatter wants you to believe otherwise, though. He locks people in a rosy little bubble where nothing bad happens and everything is cutesy and happy. That's not healthy. But he can't change the past. He can't erase memories. He's not as powerful as he pretends to be._

_You can't change _your _past, Wilt. You can't erase _your _memories. So, what I'm asking you is, what are you going to do about it?_

Wilt couldn't answer.

_Answer!_

Wilt's demonic form raised his axe.

_Answer the question!_

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

A low laugh echoed through the darkness. _That's the only answer you can give, isn't it?_

The axe came down.

* * *

"Wilt! Geez, keep it down!"

Just a dream. Just a dream.

No, this is the Otherworld. Nothing here is just a dream. A world with imaginary friends, talking animals and storybook characters never has anything that can be dismissed with the simple remark of 'just a dream'.

"Um, Wilt…"

For a minute, Wilt thought it was Herriman, giving him a brief moment of comfort, which immediately evaporated as soon as he saw the March Hare make his appearance.

"What do you want?"

"No need to get so grumpy…I'm just…"

"Look, I'm sorry, but…I'm not sure if I can trust you. Your little friend…"

"She's no friend of mine, Wilt. Um, maybe a Starburst would calm you down?"

"I guess." Wilt took the sweet from the Hare, who hopped out of the room quickly, leaving Wilt with his thoughts.

* * *

"You're back early. Were you successful?"

"Well, m'lord, I was going to bring the friend to our side an' all that, but somethin' leapt out and interrupted me."

"It was _him_ again, wasn't it? He is such a, for lack of a better word, pooper."

"I'm not sure it was 'im, m'lord."

"Don't be silly. It couldn't have been anyone else. Ah, and where have _you_ been?"

"Um, I was out on a walk, that's it, admiring the scenery."

"Don't lie to me."

"But…"

"_Don't_."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"Bloo! Bloo! I had the strangest dream last night…"

Bloo moaned. "Lemme guess. It was about the haunted house and you were a monster, and now you're troubled by guilt and how much you miss Frankie. You gotta learn to put the past behind ya, pal."

"I'm sorry, but…"

"Look, Wilt, if I wanted to see a guy constantly feeling sorry for himself, I'd watch those sappy romantic comedies they show every night. Now, I've got to eat breakfast. And I don't want to hear any more complaining."

Bloo walked off.

_Well said, Bloo._

Bloo looked around frantically, and saw that he was alone.

_You seem to possess more intelligence than that red thing does. I like that._

"Wait…are you invading my mind like Freddy Krueger?"

_Er…yes._

"Awesome! I love those movies! The third was the best, what with the skeleton and all that. Second was just meh."

_Silence! Listen to me!_

"OK, OK, geez, no need to get all shaky about it!"

_Hmph. Anyway, you are to listen to me, and only me. Not the Hatter, not the shadow person, not even that rabbit…_

"You mean Herriman?"

_Yes._

"Ah, it's good to know somebody agrees with me about him."

_Anyway, it is only _I _you should listen to. I know what's good for you._

"If I follow you, what do I get out of it?"

Silence.

"That was so totally awesome!" Bloo screamed to himself, "I bet none of the other friends have creepy, spooky voices in their heads!"


	3. Chapter 3

Both Bloo and Wilt entered the (awfully large) dining room of the place they resided in, and both gasped in shock as they saw none other than the Hatter himself setting out the plates on the table, a job that the March Hare usually performed. His presence in the room made all the friends sitting at the table go deathly quiet, except for Eduardo, who cowered under the table, screaming and weeping, and Berry, who was strangely absent.

"Um, sorry for asking," Wilt broke the silence, "but, why are _you_ here?"

"The March Hare has taken a temporary leave of absence…" The Hatter then stared at Wilt gravely, his pale eyes boring into the friend's sole good one. "Is there something wrong with me being here?"

"The spooky voice in my head says so!" said Bloo, crossing his arms proudly.

The silence resumed. Well, until Eduardo ran away screaming.

"Ah yes, I've noticed that your trust in me has begun to wane," said the Hatter, deliberately ignoring Bloo's 'voices', "and I don't see any reason why it should. Are you implying that it was _I_ who sent you to the real world and forced you to kill people?"

Not a single answer. Ignoring the silence, the Hatter pulled down a blind from nowhere as the lights began to somehow dim. "I have prepared an audio-visual presentation that should renew your trust in me once and for all." There was no camera, but the blind still displayed the classic decreasing numbers, and after '2' disappeared, the title screen for 'Amusing and Adorable Stories Concerning Anthropomorphic Vegetables That Teach Lessons' showed up. The Hatter narrated, "This is a pickle named Bert. Bert thought he had it all; a glamorous significant other, a sparkling mansion and a job selling ice cream. Well, one day, that female other died and his mansion blew up. Bert was depressed, but still, he had his happy ice cream job…until a freak snowstorm approached. Bert was so depressed that he would go to the alleyway and cry for hours on end. Then he met his friend Thomas the Carrot. Only he wasn't a carrot anymore, he was a panther. He said that thanks to the glorious and wonderful Hatter…" (The Hatter was shown in the film, but not as a vegetable) "…all his depressions and strife were gone and he found a way out of Skid Row. He asked Bert to come with him and be a Cheshire Cat, but Bert refused. So Bert spent the rest of his days in the gutter as potat-hoboes urinated on him. The End." The lights came back on and the blind disappeared.

"So consider yourselves lucky," said the Hatter, his eyes narrowing as he viewed the friends, many of them shivering at his stare, "you get to live in the Otherworl by default. Many humans refuse it, like Bert did, and end up with their life down the gutter. Some forget all about it. Many, I am sad to inform, go their whole lives without hearing an iota about the Otherworld, and many of them _need_ it." Some of the friends swore they saw the Hatter wipe a tear from his eye at that moment. "Don't vilify me; I'm trying to help. It's people like that bloody idiot you have to look out for. During your time at that mansion, he made you forget about this world and the time you've spent here, that was part of your transformation."

"Um, sorry for interrupting…"

"What is it _now_, Wilt?"

"Um, yea, if he could make us forget the Otherworld, why didn't he make us forget…well…" He gulped. "…why didn't he make us forget our kids? Y'know, the ones who made us?"

"Because he _couldn't_. He tried, but he couldn't."

It all made sense. Forgetting Frankie would have made Wilt happy, he could live in the Otherworld easier, he wouldn't have the nightmares. Something like the person who brought you into being could not easily be forgotten…

All these thoughts in his head at that moment, Frankie, the Hatter, the shadow, the Otherworld, Foster's House, that _voice_…it all made him feel like his brain was in a blender. All of a sudden, he began to lose his balance and stumble out of the room; all of this did nothing but make him feel dizzy. He swore he would vomit.

"Oh, what's wrong _now_? I swear…"

The Hatter's words gradually faded away as Wilt closed his eyes, fell to the floor and felt his body go numb.

Not again.

* * *

Birdsong. Sunshine. Blue sky.

Yellow brick road.

Frankie.

Young, little red-headed Frankie. No pale, emaciated Frankie. Nice Frankie.

"Follow the yellow brick road! Follow the yellow brick road!"

Her soft touch. She can make all things better. Not the Hatter. Oz is better than Otherworld. Otherworld was creepy and nasty and ruled by a madman from a book about caterpillars on drugs. Frankie's going to take Wilt to a place where he'll never be sad again. They'll be together forever and…

Frankie just died.

Sharp teeth.

Sharp teeth belonging to nothing.

It wasn't the Wicked Witch of the West. It wasn't the Nome King. It was something _much_ worse.

_Still entertaining juvenile fantasies, are we?_

Oz was destroyed. The yellow brick road had been blown to pieces. All that was left was a wasteland. And the _teeth_.

_I remember hearing you say you wanted to _forget_ that miserable human. Then you want to skip away with her to Happyland. If you aren't going to make up your mind, why don't I do it for you? _

Wilt wanted to run away. He couldn't. He didn't know whether the creature had cast a spell on him to stop him moving, or that he had frozen in fear, or that he knew it would be futile to try to escape, but he couldn't.

And Frankie was back. Pale, emaciated Frankie, just as scared of Wilt as he was of her.

_Look at her! Now she's weak and defenceless! Kill her!_

Now Wilt _knew_ he was going to vomit.

_It's what you want, isn't it? I was watching you when you participated in that battle between her and Mac. Oh yes, weren't you reminded of how much you **hated** her when you saw Bloo willing to help Mac?_

'No!' came another voice, one more nervous and timid than how the teeth spoke, 'Can't you forgive her? Can't…'

_NO ONE ASKED **YOUR** OPINION! Now, Wilt, don't you really want Frankie to pay for her crimes?_

"No…"

_Don't lie to me, I know exactly how you think, what makes you tick. That's why _I'm_ the one you should look up to. You don't have to pretend in front of me._

No. He shouldn't pretend.

Frankie should die. Bitch. Worthless little bitch. Worthless, evil, disgusting, vile…

The axe. At first he thought his hideous counterpart had returned to torment him more, but he was _transforming_ into that hideous counterpart. Unlike the first time, which was a horrible nightmare given flesh, this transformation sent jolts of excitement through Wilt's body.

Revenge!

The teeth grinned.

He raised the axe.

_I knew you'd listen to reason._

The axe came down.

* * *

"Wake up!" The grinning mouth that had been commanding Wilt had now been replaced by the frown of a lizard standing on his chest. Back in the same old house, same old Otherworld. Although he had never seen that lizard before.

"Sorry, but who are you?"

"I am Gaspar, and I have an important announcement to make to the friends," replied the gecko, holding a sheet of paper. "Out of my way!"

"I assume after that unexpected visit from our lord and master," said Herriman to the friends at the breakfast table, "we can return to our daily habits."

"Not before I deliver a message," said Gaspar, hopping onto the table, still clinging to the sheet of paper.

"Geez," Bloo rolled his eyes again, "It's one thing after another 'round here."

"Master Blooregard! Please, continue. I'm very curious."

Gaspar immediately fell silent, developing a case of stage fright right there and then. All of those eyes, and from such weird creatures as well. One looked like a huge ball of fluff. Another looked like a pink squirrel. He possibly couldn't…

The trenchcoated shadow stood in the corner.

Burning yellow eyes.

_Gabriella._

"Friends, weird things, figments, lend me your ears…well, if you have any. Do you still accept the Hatter as your leader?"

"We're not talking about _him_ again, are we?" The friends had begun to move from the table.

"Wait, wait…" Gaspar nervously looked at the paper again, "The Hatter claims he's doing you good, he claims he is of benefit to you, but where was he when you all became frightening, murderous demons? Did he help you? Did he bring you back here to recover? Did he give a _shit_?" The friends immediately sat back down. "He claims to want to help you, but do you get to be Creators? Do you get your own 'world' like the humans that come here, many of them being your children, who have forgotten you and left you to _rot _here?" Glares of horror came across the friends' faces. "And what about Itty Bitty Kitty? Remember how she died?" The friends weren't sure how Gaspar did it, but the image of Itty Bitty Kitty appeared above the table, like a hologram in a science fiction movie. "The Hatter wanted her child to be a Cheshire Cat." The image of a blonde girl appeared. "She kept refusing and refusing…so…" Kitty then got grabbed by a panther. She then appeared in a dungeon. Then her child, in feline form, swiped her head off. "This could happen to you any day now, you know." The friends became as stiff as statues. "Face it, my friends," Gaspar continued, gaining enthusiasm apparent by his frantic movements, "the Hatter cares not for you! All he cares about is…" The friends gasped simulataneously.

"This!" Hundreds and thousands of hideous, disgusting maniacs, drooling, laughing, weeping or a miscellany of horrible things, all sitting at one table. "It's all to drive people mad, you see! It's all a game to him! He thinks this sort of behaviour is amusing, something to be _laughed_ at! Do we really want someone like _this_ in charge?"

Mr. Herriman slowly raised his arm. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to concur with this reptile here. I have tried to trust the Hatter ever since coming here, but it has been very difficult. Very difficult indeed." A sigh. "Especially after that incident. In fact, I'm actually a little surprised none of us has ever suggested a resistance before. I mean, I now several of us who have obtained the willies from those felines and those creatures of his."

"And that is why," exclaimed Gaspar, holding the edges of his coat with pride, "I should be appreciated as your new leader."

A song immediately began to play out of nowhere:

'Hatter, Hatter, Hatter,

He doesn't at all matter,

Hatter, Hatter, Hatter,

He likes seeing blood splatter!

Hatter, Hatter, Hatter,

He's thicker than pancake batter,

Hatter, Hatter, Hatter,

Beware his Cheshire Catters!

Gaspar, Gaspar, Gaspar,

He's friendlier than Casper,

Gaspar, Gaspar, Gaspar,

Your hearts he should grasp-ar!

Gaspar, Gaspar, Gaspar,

Make him your master,

Gaspar, Gaspar, Gaspar,

Um…his name's not Jasper!

And the Hatter smells of fish.'

The song repeated over and over again, to everyone's annoyance and Bloo's amusement, as he couldn't help but guffaw at the ludicrous lyrics. When the song stopped though, most of the friends, especially Herriman, appeared truly motivated to form a movement against the Hatter and his reign. They ha even marched out of the room, carrying Gaspar on their shoulders as if he were the man of the hour, which, in a way, he was. Bloo and Wilt were still left in the dining room, Bloo laughing his head off and Wilt with a nervous expression on his face.

"Heh, heh, Cheshire Catters…"

"Bloo! I'm sorry, but you are not taking this as seriously as you should be!"

"Wilt, chill. Those guys will be fine!"

"Bloo!"

"Wilt!"

"I'm…I'm sorry." Wilt ran away.

Bloo resumed his laughing.

_Stop that annoying giggling right now, you stupid blob!_

"Oh it's you again."

_Your friend Wilt makes an excellent point; I wish you would listen to him._

"Pfft. He's just doin' it to get attention."

_But he is so right in his mistrust. Neither that lizard or the Hatter are good leaders. Gaspar is a hypocrite, and is only doing this because a _certain someone_ told him to._

"Who? Coco?"

_You idiot. Remember the demon that transformed you into that unspeakable atrocity? He who laughed at your pain? Who only cared about you serving him?_

"Doesn't ring a bell."

Mac running. Mac screaming. Fire fire fire. Hell hell hell. **FIRE HELL BURN BURN BURN.**

_Remember now?_

Bloo sighed. "Just leave me alone. I got better things to do."

_Fine then. _


	4. Chapter 4

"I suppose this relates to our little friend, doesn't it?"

"Well, don't look at me, sir."

The Hatter and the March Hare had just begun to relax and to take a cup of tea, when Mr. Herriman, Coco and the other friends were protesting next to their infamous tea table, chanting 'You're late, you're late, for a very important fate!', while holding up signs with such slogans as 'Don't treat us like we're not real', 'Imaginary friends have feelings too', 'Have an Un-Merry Unbirthday', 'Cococococococo' and 'You suck!'

"How now!" said the Hatter, leaping from his seat, "What, exactly, are you people doing?"

"We've decided we've had enough of being under your thumb!" Mr. Herriman poked his finger into the Hatter's chest.

"Oh, not this tomfoolery again. Have those vegetables taught you nothing?"

"No amount of anthropomorphic produce can undo what you did to poor Kitty."

"This is about _her_? I would not bother mourning that dead feline; even her own bloody creator hates her!"

"This doesn't just concern her," Herriman continued with a grave expression, pointing behind the Hatter, "During my time in this world, it has been very difficult of me to look up to you as a leader, raising a brutish army, taking joy in other's insanity…"

"Listen," the Hatter hissed, grabbing Herriman by his coat, "if you think it'll take some sentimental claptrap to impress me, you've got another think coming."

* * *

Basketball.

Wilt had a basketball in his room, as well as a basketball net.

Wilt loved basketball.

Frankie loved basketball.

Wilt loved basketball.

And yet, what gave him so much excitement, plunging the ball into the hoop, leaping as high as the stars, it all seemed mundane and trite now. What use did it have? What did it achieve?

He just lay on his bed, a basketball lying on his chest, his arm grabbing the duvet cover. He didn't move; he didn't _want_ to move. Yet he knew that voice, those teeth were coming to get him anytime soon, and lure him back into a monstrous life of murder. He'd probably die himself as a result of it.

_"Who killed Cock Robin?" "I," said the Sparrow,  
"With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin."_

What now?

_"Who saw him die?" "I," said the Fly,  
"With my little eye, I saw him die."_

The rhyme, seemingly sung by a children's choir of the damned was coming from the hall, and getting louder…

_"Who caught his blood?" "I," said the Fish,  
"With my little dish, I caught his blood."_

Blood.

Thick red liquid seeping in from under the door, crawling across the floor like an earthworm and bubbling. It carried an unusual aroma to it as well, an intoxicating, seductive smell that beckoned Wilt towards it. Wilt dipped his finger in the blood and, even though he knew it was a stupid thing to do, stuck the bloodstained finger in his mouth. The blood, in fact, had a mixed flavor of cherry-tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, toffee and hot buttered toast; a taste so sweet Wilt couldn't decide whether to doubt it was even blood to begin with, or shiver in fear at what could be new-found bloodlust.

As he lay back on his bed again, the door to his room exploded, sending pieces of wood flying everywhere. The creature that came through made the entire room tremble as if it were an earthquake, with plaster and debris falling from the ceiling and objects toppled from their shelves.

Berry.

Not Berry the small little blob. Berry the seven foot tall lizard. Berry the gangly nightmare with blazing eyes and sharp claws. Berry the beast that could rip you to two with her long pointed fangs.

"Wilt!" Berry bellowed in a voice that shook the room further and sent further chills down Wilt's spine, "You won't accomplish anything just lying around feeling sorry for yourself!"

'Don't listen to her! You're better than this!'

"If it weren't for that despicable Hatter, my friend would still be alive! And that shadow, treating us like his **_servants_**! We're going to set things right!"

'No! Ignore her! You've been through enough!'

_SHUT THE FUCK UP NOBOY GIVES A DAMN WHAT YOU THINK!_

Wilt shut his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the various voices, waiting for them to leave him alone. Maybe…maybe this was a dream, he thought. All a dream. He wasn't in the Otherworld; he was still in Frankie's head, and she was just having a nightmare. Several nightmares. She never became evil. She never lead an army of vicious demons. She led a normal life, all that 'Foster's House' stuff was merely a bad dream. Dreams can't hurt you.

_YOU HAVEN'T KILLED FRANKIE YET YOU USELESS LITTLE SOD!_

Wilt's eyes blinked open, and he saw Frankie, pale thin Frankie, shuddering in the corner, biting her lip to prevent her from crying. Berry stared at her with her burning red eyes, licking saliva off her lips.

_What are you waiting for?_

The axe came back.

_She created you. You are her son. But did she act like a _mother_ should?_

Wilt saw mothers. Smiling mothers, mothers happily making breakfast for their family, laughing mothers from toy commercials playing with their children…laughing Frankie playing with Wilt…

_It was all an act to make your torture EVEN WORSE! MOTHERS DON'T FORCE THEIR CHILDREN TO KILL FOR NO REASON! ALL THAT SUGAR AND SPICE STUFF WAS NOTHING BUT **FUCKING BULL-SHIT!** KILL HER! DESTROY HER!** TEAR HER TO PIECES!**_

Wilt didn't use the axe.

He reached for Frankie's face, and with a single pull, tore her skin right off, revealing bloody muscles. The blood tasted like strawberries.

"Hey, Wilt, wa- OH MY…"

Bloo walked in.

"GET AWAY FROM ME BLOO!" Wilt screamed, his body thinning, his teeth growing, his stare growing more menacing….

'RUN BLOO RUN!'

Bloo did run.

He ran as fast as he could.

With Bloo gone, Wilt could finally complete his revenge. He pulled off the muscles next and took huge bites out of them as if they were T-Bone steaks. So tasty…so tasty… He tore her entrails, her small intestine, her stomach, her large intestine, her heart, her brain and threw them on the floor, then jumped up an own on them, causing more delicious, succulent blood to cover the room.

Frankie was dead.

HA HA HA HA _HA HA HA HA **HA HA HA HA HA HA!**_


	5. Chapter 5

"A protest? We're rebelling against the LORD OF THE FUCKING OTHERWORLD and the best thing you can think up is A PROTEST?!"

Not only had the trenchcoated demon joined the friends, much to their horror, Gaspar had too, the latter being throttled by the former furiously.

"I WANTED WAR! I WANTED BLOODSHED! NOT SOME STUPID PUSSY PICKET SIGNS WITH STUPID REMARKS!" The shadow threw Gaspar at Mr. Herriman, who tripped over, and thus caused several other friends to fall like dominoes.

"My rival here does hold a valid point," said the Hatter, "so I feel I should give you poor creatures a choice. You either return to your home and live under my reign again _without question_ or thousands of Cheshire Cats appear and a glorious battle ensues. That applies to you too, Gaspar. I'm beginning to regret letting you live." Gaspar spat in the Hatter's face. "Don't resort to such infantile responses."

Herriman didn't want to fight. The friends didn't want to fight. Two creatures that had caused them so much misery and strife wanted them to, so the logical response was not to. Still, leaving would mean the entire protest, the entire resistance had all been for naught. They could never trust the Hatter, with his lack of facial features and horrific stare, not to mention it was entirely possible that any one of them could be tortured or killed as a way to force people into the Otherworld. Itty Bitty Kitty's death was still not to be taken lightly; in fact, images of her brutal murder began to flash before the friend's eyes as the Hatter and his rival waited for an answer.

"AAAAAGHH!"

"Master Blooregard?"

It was Bloo, this time running around the Otherworld like a headless chicken screaming his head off.

"Mr. Herriman, Wilt was all weird, he was yelling and there was Berry, they were all like they were, y'know, there was blood…"

"Master Blooregard!"

The Hatter gave a cynical glare. "I…"

The ground cracked open like an eggshell. Flames burst through the fissures with silhouettes of the dancing undead projected in them. A claw reached through – a pin claw, of all things – followed by another. A slobbering head attached upon a long neck slivered out next, with eyes glowing red and a forked tongue licking its fangs. It leapt out from the crevice and landed, creating a miniature earthquake as it did so.

Berry.

Everyone knew it on first glance. That glaring shade of pink in its scales; who else could it be?

As the crack in the earth closed itself up, Berry gave a fierce roar and knocked over all her observers with a single swing of her tail.

The shadow smirked. "I guess this means there'll be a fight after all."

The Hatter reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another of his faithful companions: his Dormouse. He cupped both his hands over the rodent's belly and gave a tight squeeze. The Dormouse blurted out a painful noise that sounded like a cross between a football horn, a fog horn and an 'Awooga Awooga'. At twe minute this sound faded, the Hatter's more useful henchmen, his army of Cheshire Cats, appeared out of nowhere, growling and prowling like the predators they had become.

Upon the felines' appearance, Coco leapt backwards and laid a plastic egg. The egg immediately popped open as it fell on the ground, and as it opened, swords lay all over the ground.

"Nice to see Coco has the right idea," said the trenchcoated demon.

"This is so cool!" Bloo rushed to grab a sword of his own, swinging it around making 'Zzzzm, zzzm' noises as if he were a character from a certain movie trilogy. "I am _so_ going to kick some Cheshire Cat butt."

"What are _you_ doing?" The shadow noticed Gaspar trying to pick up a sword. "I've changed my mind about you."

"But…what about…"

"Beat it." With that, the trenchcoated shadow's fingers elongated until they became like tentacles. These black tentacles wrapped around Gaspar and threw him away.

"But…but…but...what about me…what about…what about…"

_Gabriella?_

"What was that?"

The scene faded away rapidly. The raging sounds of an upcoming battle gave way to cheerful calliope music, the grey, dark place where the Hatter held his tea parties became a fairground, with the aroma of fresh candy floss drifting through the air and thick grass adorned with dew. The Soussini Brothers' Magnificent Funfair. Gaspar could walk the place with his eyes closed. It didn't take much walking though until he saw himself, in his past human state, chuckling and laughing away on a carousel. Gabriella was there too, enjoying herself even more, performing 'ride it cowboy' poses on a horse, her luscious black hair blowing in the wind. Gaspar the gecko ran quickly towards the carousel, his coat blowing frantically in the breeze, unnatural sweat pouring own his face, knowing what was going to happen…

BLAM. She clutched her bleeding heart. She tumbled to the ground and broke her neck. BLAM again. This time to the head. Those sick bastards.

The gun. After that incident, he became _fascinated_ by them. Just touching one of those made his body tingle with excitement.

He was holding one right now. He laughed.

It happened again. His past human self and his love chuckling as they rode imaginary steeds around and around. This time, there he was, holding his gun, smirking and silently giggling to himself, his target in reach.

BLAM.

That fat bastard fell to the ground. He never knew what hit him.

Her soft voice.

"I can't thank you enough."

She ha somehow teleported off the horse and was now right next to Gaspar, her soft hands caressing his scales.

"Do you now what would _really_ make me happy?"

She had sharp teeth.

Teeth.

* * *

"Master Blooregard, is retaliation necessary?" Herriman observed his sword nervously. "I mean, not even when I had transformed into a malevolent ghoul did I ever, well, _kill_."

Bloo was still swinging his sword around like it was made of plastic. "You'll get used to it. Look at Coco."

Coco, now sporting an army helmet that had come out of nowhere, ha begun to lay eggs by the dozen – only these eggs were actually grenades. She threw them with her beak towards the Cheshire Cats, many of them being knocked backwards onto the ground. Yet they weren't going to give up that easily.

Herriman sighed, holding the sword in a way that he thought looked determined. "I suppose I have no choice."

As Herriman decided whether or not to wield his weapon, the shadow had begun to use his elongated fingers to war off the Cheshire Cats. The fingers stretched so far it almost hurt him, but it proved an effective mode of attack as they swatted away the cats as if they were flies, or picked them up and threw them on the ground. At least it proved successful until an ocelot and dug his sharp teeth into one of them, which caused a moment of temporary distraction for the shadow, allowing a panther to sneak up from behind and whack him in the back of the head. As the shadow fell to the ground face first, he dropped the cats he was planning to throw, which immediately gathered to him like vultures to their prey.

Herriman hopped around the battlefield, clenching his sword tightly, although the idea that he would actually attack with it at the moment seemed unlikely, as his focus was on the various imaginary friends being attacked by the Cheshire Cats. A teddy bear tried to attack a puma, which responded by tearing te bear in two an throwing the stuffing around like it was confetti. A clown had just got his head torn right off his shoulders due to a single swipe of a tiger's claw, with blood gushing out of his neck like a fountain. The sight of a cute little pink squirrel trying to retreat, only to be impaled on a lioness' paw actually motivated Herriman to swing his sword around, which, sure enough, caused him to slash a jaguar right across the stomach. Herriman leapt in joy at this, but only for a minute as he was kicked in the face and slugged in the eye.

All the while, Berry was prowling the arena, swinging her tail and laughing raucously. Fighting against both the friends and the cats, several of the opponents had either been swept away by the massive force of her tail or had been swallowed whole into her gaping, slobbering mouth, and slipped down her tongue into a bottomless esophagus. At one point the opponents noticed that she had screamed in pain because several cats were attacking her by biting at her tail, but these attackers, however, were soon mashed into a bloody pulp.

Bloo had been doing the 'zzzm' routine for quite a while since the battle begun, but it was getting him nowhere. The cats had been ignoring him, turning focus on friends they felt were 'juicier'. Even Berry didn't seem to notice his presence, but Bloo didn't want to think about that in too much detail. He once even called out "C'mon, is anyone going to _fight_ me?" and a leopard slashed him across the chest in less than a second. Even after that, he continued to believe his sword was a piece of sci-fi weaponry, only to take his mind off the excessive blood and murders he was laying witness to.

BLAM. The herald to Gaspar's appearance in the battle. He didn't even focus; he just closed his eyes and shot wildly all over the place. Some, but not many opponents got hit by the bullets, but it was just as well, as, at that moment, Gaspar was more excited by the fact that he had the chance to use a gun at all then he was about who he was going to kill with it. It didn't take long, however, until he ran around the battlefield, searching for cats to shoot. Unfortuneately, just as his eyes caught the sight of a rather plump tigress, his gun was knocked out of his hands by a familiar black tentacle, and another of these flung him across the arena yet again.

Just as Gaspar reached for his gun, a figure entered the battlefield that made the opponents immediately stop what they were doing.

The Hatter was frightening. The shadow was frightening. The Cheshire Cats were frightening. But this creature carried around its own air of fear, a different type of fear than what the friends and the cats were used to.

Wilt.

Not jolly, happy Wilt. A haggard, gangly red creature, with bones protruding through its crimson skin. One eyeball a circling spiral. The other a green one-eyed maggot burying through the head. Six tentacles instead of two legs. Axe in its sole arm. Its most noticeable feature, though, was its smile. It looked like a sadistic smile, a smile awaiting a thousand deaths, a smile pleased at the bloodshed surrounding the fighters, a smile that froze the friends and the cats on the spot, yet seemed to instill a sense of confidence and upcoming victory into Gaspar and Berry.

No-one knew it at the time, but it was actually a smile of hope. He smiled because he knew that through this battle, he would be redeeming himself, creating meaningful deaths to justify pointless ones.

His first attack, surprisingly, didn't involve his axe. He exhaled a deep breath at the shadow, who, in his amazement at Wilt's presence, had dropped two cats he was about to hurl into the atmosphere. Wilt's breath had caused a skeleton – Frankie's skeleton, to materialize out of thin air and whack the shadow backwards. The remaining cats pounced towards him, but as they did, they were either decapitated or sent flying backwards, where they would either be sot by Gaspar or tortured by Berry. The imaginary friends just stared in silent shock.

Even the Hatter, who had previously been watching the battle with glee, had become overwrought with disgust at this battle, and thus, had told everyone to take a rest. Everyone, even the trenchcoated shadow, agreed to this.

Herriman and Bloo walked towards a patch of land where the other friends were laying down and catching their breaths. Even Coco, who had been one of the most enthusiastic on the battlefield, was breathing heavily and staring at horror at her scars. It was a good thing Eduardo stayed home; he wouldn't have lasted a millisecond.

They came for a protest. A simple protest. No more, no less. It just erupted into a huge battle without warning. All those friends, joyful creatures that, just hours ago, were innocent and playful, were now reduced to corpses, headless corpses, corpses split in half, bloody pulps that should be corpses. Bloo couldn't keep his eyes off the result of the carnage and fighting that occurred minutes ago. He bit his lip tightly to force the tears away, he shouldn't cry, he never cries.

"I knew my mistrust in the Hatter was well placed," said Herriman, half to himself, half to his associates, "It's one thing after another in this world."

Bloo opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't think of anything he really felt appropriate, or wouldn't reveal his emotions. He almost boasted about how much fun he had with that sword, but, for once, he felt it would be wiser not to say anything.

"Co co co coco co."

"I know, Madam Coco, I know." Herriman brought Coco closer to him and held her as if she were his own child. The battle had made him sick to his stomach, and images of Itty Bitty Kitty ran through his mind like a broken record, but he had a position of authority, and had to retain his dignity. The tears still came though, the sobs still came though, and the hug gave him temporary comfort.

Even the Cheshire Cats sobbed and wept as they looked upon the carcasses that once been their friends and associates. For many of them, this was the type of thing they joined the Otherworld to avoid. They were told that if they joined the army, they'd have a happier life and be more free and prosperous. A lie. A big fat fucking lie. There were some, however, who tried to comfort their companions by spouting such clichés as 'it's part of the job' or 'can't make an omelette…' Shut up. SHUT UP.

The three warriors fighting against the friends and cats merely just laughed in triumph at how many of their opponents they had defeated – well, two of them, at least. Wilt had left them to celebrate their victory as he slithered through the battlefield, staring at the dead and dying creatures that had once fought viciously against each other. A lynx, grin plastered on its face even after death, had a sword through its heart; how could an imaginary friend even _think_ of doing that? Asinine. That's what it was. Wilt wanted to do something to make up for what he had done when in that mansion, something to show how sorry he was, something that would have made the old Frankie proud. What did he do? The very thing he regretted doing, just because some _teeth_ told him to. A lie. A big fat fucking lie. He had done nothing to show he was sorry. **NOTHING.** He was still a monster, what children fear lurks beneath their bed or in their cupboards.

'Wilt, I know how you feel…'

"SHUT UP!"

'I'm sorry…I…I want to show you something.'


	6. Chapter 6

"M'lord, m'lord!"

The Hatter stopped pacing nervously and turned to the Duchess. "What is it now?"

"Well, m'lord, there's someone here to see you."

The Hatter pushed the Duchess aside to see who it was.

A shark. It was a shark. At least, it was upon first glance. A closer look at it, however, assured it was something more. It needed no water; it swam in the air. Its eyes were its most noticeable feature, glowing yellow with a red slit, like those of a snake.

_Ah, I've been dying to meet you, _it said.

"Who are you?"

The shark laughed. _I thought you were an expert on these types of things._

"Wait…I think I know what you are…yes, your kind lurks in shark's minds, don't they, when they smell blood, you motivate them to attack…" The shark nodded. "I thought your kind existed in the minds of sharks solely and that you died when the sharks die…I don't know how you managed to get to the Otherworld."

_That is not important at this moment. What is important is a deal I want to make._

"A deal?"

_Yes. You see, you haven't exactly been a good leader._

"What are you talking about?"

_You have a lot of good ideas, but you truly lack common sense. You claim you're doing the things you're doing because the real world is such a horrible place, yet you have done nothing to improve it. The idea of the Cheshire Cats was pure genius, however, you are restricting them. I have much better uses for them._

The Hatter pulled his face in closer, curious to see where this was going.

_Did you see who it was in the war that fought for neither your army nor the shadow's? Gaspar, Berry, Wilt…_

"They were fighting for _you_?"

_It was the best way to get your attention. And it's going to help me prove a point. All three of them have something in common: each of them is troubled, and those troubles stem from humanity. A filthy, dirty human took away Gaspar's happiness. A selfish, hateful human, taking orders from your main rival, of all people, slowly grinded Berry and Wilt's minds by transforming them into demons – Wilt was her own son, keep in mind. Humanity is scum; mindless, pitiless scum. Do you know why your Cheshire Cats chose the profession?_

The Hatter puffed his chest out in pride. "Well, I don't mean to brag but…"

_It was because they were _sick_ of being human and through you, were able to get revenge. You find so much joy in insanity, and yet you never take an interest as to how these people became insane if it doesn't relate to your precious little Otherworld. The people you brand mad can actually be more sane than those who claim to be; they actually give a shit about the problems in the world, they don't pretend to care, they don't forget about it, they let it affect them._

"Enough of this pretentious blathering, what is it that you are proposing?"

_I want us to become partners, to rule the Otherworld and the Cheshire Cat army together, and we'll both benefit._

"How so?"

_I have a plan that will utilize the army in a much more necessary action. The cats have been attached to the Otherworld for far too long. We need to bring them to the real world…_

"But several of them are dead, thanks in no small part to you."

_There's always more ready to be recruited. And of course, I will join them in this task. I have always wondered what it would be like to be a part of the physical world, and, with your special powers, you could make it happen._

"And why should I?"

_If this plan succeeds…_The shark rose to the air, gave a boisterous laugh of excitement, then glided back down to meet the Hatter's face once more. _…the entire human race will be wiped off the planet._

"_Genocide_? You do know I have limits…"

_There are many insane people still on Earth with a chance of having their minds restored. Were my plan to succeed, your tea party would have more patrons. Were my plan to succeed, you would never have a worry again. Were my plan to succeed, that world could be…_

And the shark conjured up a bright green meadow, with leafy green trees, babbling rivers and playful little squirrels and birds enjoying themselves.

"There are plenty of places like that in the Otherworld."

_But if my plan were to succeed, this would be _real_. It would be born as a physical place, not as a longing, not as a desire, but as a place, a _real_ place. When the world is free from human vermin, we can create this place and pay it constant visits, it could be the Cheshire Cats' reward._

The meadow disappeared. _The humans would either be under your command, mad, or roasting in Hell._

"Actually, you _do_ make the offer seem rather enticing…"

"YOU'RE GOING TO KILL THE HUMAN RACE NOW?!"

"Ah, it's nice for you to join us, March Hare," The March Hare walked towards the pair, nervously playing with his ears. "If you want to contribute to this conversation, give counter-opinions; it's always healthy to consider both sides of the argument."

"Well, I…you can't, because…there's some good people…"

"If you can't cobble together a coherent argument, then back out of my affairs. Go."

The March Hare left.

_So, do we have a deal,_ partner

"Well…"

The axe came down.

"What ho?"

_What are you doing?_

Wilt had plunged the axe into the shark's back, grinning and chuckling as he did so.

_TRAITOR! I promised you everything. I gave you a solution to your problems. I even helped you get revenge on that stupid little SLUT._

Wilt swung his axe again, but the shark whacked the weapon out of his hand with its tail. The shark opened its mouth to swallow Wilt whole, but Wilt leapt out of the way towards his axe, dodging the massive bite. The shark's tail knocked him over backwards again, and, despite having no fingers or claws, the shark slashed Wilt's chest, what the Cheshire Cats never dared to do. _It does taste delicious, remember?_ The shark licked off the blood with its giant serpentine tongue, as Wilt reached for his axe. Upon regaining his weapon, he stuck it straight into the shark's stomach, causing it to howl widely.

_It's YOU, isn't it? I thought you didn't like killing, an yet you'll give anything to see _me_ die. Rub that smug smile off your face this moment. _As the sark yelled to its invisible foe, Wilt poked its eyes and laughed while doing so. Not a sadistic laugh, not an evil laugh, a laugh of joy. After howling again, the shark bit its bloodstained teeth into Wilt's tentacles – "AAAGH!" – and tore them right off.

* * *

_The furious anger that was boiling up inside Mac at that moment made him run towards Wilt and grab his six tentacles. TIMBER! Wilt fell to the floor like a tree after being chopped down, dropping his weapon. Mac immediately rushed to the hatchet and held it in his hand._

"_You miserable wretch!" Wilt cried, becoming less of 'a nice guy' every second, "Give that back right now!"_

"_Or what?" Mac replied with confidence._

_Wilt gave a bloodthirsty roar and grabbed Mac's shirt with his bony claw, lifting him up so their faces met. Wilt then gave a demonstration of his strength by hurling Mac to the end of the hallway, giving him a splitting headache._

"_I have been given so much power." Wilt growled, "Even without that axe I can still destroy you."_

_Mac's fury against this horrendous red creature grew larger and larger with every word that escaped out of its wicked mouth._

"_This," Mac angrily told Wilt, "is for Frankie."_

_Mac immediately put Wilt's axe to good use, using it to slice off every one of Wilt's legs. Wilt fell to the floor once again, this time on his back, green blood gushing out of where his tentacles once were. As Wilt tried to get away without his legs, he laid eyes on Mac approaching him, holding the hatchet, fiery vengeance reflected in his eyes._

_Chop._

_What happened to Frankie happened to Wilt._

_Wilt's green blood covered the floor._

_Another imaginary friend murdered by Mac.

* * *

_

The shark's eyes burnt with more fury, saliva dripped from its mouth and it rose at Wilt, ready to perform the coup de gras.

Damn shark. Damn Hatter. **LIES LIES _LIES_**! Blood. Guts. Frankie Frankie Frankie….

Wilt clutched the axe tighter, despite the fact that losing his legs should have made him grow weaker, he felt his heart pump faster and a strange power surge through his body – what was left of it, at least.

The shark dove.

He raised the axe.

The shark dove.

He flung the axe down.

The shark fell.

That bloodthirsty, murderous creature, killed by a single swipe. It was split in two, in fact. It was the only time seeing blood and entrails scrawled out on the floor felt pure and noble.

Wilt laughed again. This laugh was a special laugh, a laugh like no other, a laugh that was utterly orgasmic.

Laugh and the world laughs with you.

The axe came down.

_"Who killed Cock Robin?" "I," said the Sparrow,  
"With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin."_

The Hatter did it.

_"Who saw him die?" "I," said the Fly,  
"With my little eye, I saw him die."  
_  
No more laughter.

The Hatter performed the deed with a straight face, and when he was finished, walked away.

Was he still considering genocide as an option? Was he going to retreat to his normal duties?

No more laughter.

_"Who caught his blood?" "I," said the Fish,  
"With my little dish, I caught his blood."_

The blood. There was blood. There was lots of blood.

It tasted bad. It tasted like suffering. It tasted like hell.

* * *

It tasted like heaven.

No, he wasn't dying. He still had his legs. He wasn't a monster. He was fat and fluffy with a big one on his chest.

There were no wars, no demented tea parties, no sharks or demons. Only a luscious green world, and a winding _road of yellow brick_ that gleamed like gold.

Frankie Foster. Cute, little, red-headed Frankie beside him.

"Frankie?"

"Wilt?"

"Y'know, I'm really sorry, y'know, for…"

"Wilt, _I'm_ sorry. You're my best friend. Can't you forgive me for how I treated you?"

"Of course I do. Of course I do!"

He lifted her up on his shoulder.

"Hey, Frankie. Wanna shoot some hoops?"

And they both skipped down the yellow brick road, away from the Otherworld, away from the grinning felines and the mutant sharks, into a place where they could be together forever.

* * *

_All the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,  
When they heard the bell toll for poor Cock Robin.

* * *

_

**THE END**


End file.
